


Tell-Tale

by audreycritter



Series: Superbabies [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Camping, Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, everyone is baby, poe references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Young Bruce is having a sleepover on the back lawn.
Series: Superbabies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587907
Comments: 23
Kudos: 184





	Tell-Tale

**Author's Note:**

> a part of a superbabies AU i am writing with jerseydevious. posting as a teaser for a future full story.

Twilight drenched the lawn in dark broken only by the far-off patio light, and the beam of the flashlight in Alfred Pennyworth’s hand. It shone into the deeper darkness of the nylon tent interior, where three tousled heads were half-buried in sleeping bags. The circle of light landed on each face in turn, while they blinked and squinted against the glare. Two twelve year olds and one four year old regarded him in silence.

“You’ve the battery-powered lantern?” He asked, searching the tent. “Not the kerosene one.”

“Yes, Pop,” Bruce answered, and it was easy to hear the roll of his eyes in his voice. “It has new batteries.”

“Very well,” Alfred said, the beam settling on the face of the youngest tent occupant. “You’re certain you want to stay the night?”

“Yes!” Clark said, clutching the edge of his sleeping bag, as if he were afraid Alfred would make him come inside after all. “I’m not scared.”

“You’ll bring him in if he changes his mind,” Alfred said, between a question and an order, directed at Bruce. “You’ll not send him in alone in the dark.”

“Pop,” Bruce whined. 

“We’ll both walk him in, Mr. Pennyworth,” Kiran chimed in. “I promise.”

There was a soft _oof_ as Bruce elbowed Kiran in the side through the sleeping bags, and a hissed, ‘suck up’ and a returned blow and whispered ‘wanker.’ 

“I’m not going to change my mind!” Clark protested, indignant. “I’m with Bruce! I’m not scared, I promise.”

“Very well,” Alfred said again. “Leave the lantern on, if you will, please, young sirs.”

“We’re not babies!” Bruce exclaimed, turning the lantern on anyway. “Clark doesn’t even wet the bed anymore!” 

“Hey!” Clark shrieked, sitting bolt upright. “Bruce!”

“What? You don’t. You used to be a baby. It’s not like Kiran didn’t know.” 

“No ghost stories,” Alfred said, as a final warning. “Bruce. Do I have your word?”

“Pop,” Bruce said, gravely. “I’m not going to—”

“Do I have your word as a gentleman?”

There was an exasperated growl muffled by sleeping back and then, “Yes. Fine. No ghost stories, because you ruin _everything_.” 

“That is my greatest ambition in life, yes. You have found me out. Sleep well, my boys. Good night.” 

There was a chorus of good nights in reply, underlaid with the whrrssk of the tent zipper. The tent filled with silence while the flashlight bobbed away across the lawn toward the house. The moment the distant click of the door latching reached them, Bruce sat upright.

“Once upon a time,” he said.

“Is this a ghost story?” Clark interrupted, sounding hesitant.

“No,” Bruce retorted. “It’s literature. Shh.”

Clark climbed out of his bag and crawled onto Bruce’s lap, and Bruce wrapped his arms around the narrow shoulders and rested his chin in Clark’s hair and then met Kiran’s wide eyes.

“Go on, then,” Kiran said.

Bruce’s whisper kept the tent captivated and breathless through the story, while Clark scrunched down on his lap and clung to the arms around him.

“And _then_ , beneath the floorboards,” Bruce said, his voice rising dramatically. He paused, abruptly, and jostled Clark a little. “You okay?”

“Mhmm,” Clark nodded. His thick, messy hair tickled Bruce’s throat. “Beneath the floorboards?” 

“Beneath the floorboards,” Bruce lowered his voice again. “There was the thu-thump, thu-thump of a beating heart. He knew everyone would be able to hear it, so he—”

Clark clapped his hands over his ears with a squeak and Bruce stopped.

“You said you weren’t scared,” Bruce said, sounding almost wounded. “Clark.”

“I lied!” Clark shrieked under his breath. “You didn’t say it had _dead_ stuff!”

“He was murdered five minutes ago!” Bruce retorted. 

“I forgot!” Clark said. “You promised Pop no ghost stories! You lied, too!”

“I didn’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Clark said with a sniff. 

Bruce leaned forward and there were tears glistening in Clark’s eyes, sparkling in the lantern light. His voice sounded fully contrite. “No, I’m sorry. Clark. I didn’t know it was scaring you.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark repeated, turning his face into Bruce’s shoulder. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s okay,” Bruce said softly. He looked at Kiran, who was hugging his knees and ashy gray in the light. The other boy scooted closer and uncurled himself to pat Clark’s back.

“It’s quite alright, Clark. I liked it and I was scared anyway. Bruce can tell me the rest later.”

Bruce squeezed Clark in a fierce hug and the little boy melted into the embrace, tension seeping out of him. “Do you want to go inside? I’ll take you.”

Clark shook his head. “Can we play a game?” 

“What do you want to play?”

“Um. I Spy.”

The playing field was extremely limited, inside the tent, but Clark slid down further and further until he was asleep before his second turn. Bruce poked his shoulder and got a sleepy whine and then a little snore.

“He’s out.”

“Now you’ve got to finish the bloody story,” Kiran said.

“I thought you knew it already,” Bruce said. “You haven’t read Poe?”

“‘You haven’t read Poe,’” Kiran echoed in a mocking tone. “No, Bruce, I’ve not read Poe. I don’t even know what that is.” 

There was a moment of quiet and then Bruce reached over and pushed the button to turn the lantern off. 

“I didn’t mean…” Bruce said, into the blackness. “That isn’t…Kiran, I wasn’t saying…”

“I know,” Kiran replied, equally soft. 

“You’re not stupid,” Bruce said, frowning into the dark. 

“I know,” Kiran said, with a hint of irritation. “I’ve just not done all the same things. Finish the bloody story.”

“It’s…Edgar Allan Poe wrote mysteries. And horror stories. Some of the first detective stories in English.”

“You’re a sodding nerd,” Kiran accused.

“You can borrow them,” Bruce said, settling down on his sleeping bag. Clark stayed curled up at his side, lopsided across the tent. Kiran settled back on his own and inched it closer, so their knees were touching. 

“I’d like that,” Kiran said. “Thanks.” 

“Okay,” Bruce said, sounding relieved. “The heart was beating, thu-thump, thu-thump, beneath the floorboards, and he knew everyone could hear it. It was the loudest thing he’d ever heard in his life…”

Eventually, they drifted off, and the next thing Bruce knew he was in the Manor frantically prying up floorboards beside his bed with aching, torn fingers and setting a throbbing heart wrapped in pearls inside. When he set the heart down, it pumped furiously and scattered pearls into the depths beneath the floor, and then stopped with a final seize. 

The floorboard was too heavy to lift, and approaching footsteps flooded him with panic. His hands dripped with sticky blood and the board slipped from his grasp over and over, with ever-louder thuds until the footsteps were those of someone running. 

The door flew open and Bruce cried out in fright, in protest, and everything went dim.

“Shh,” a voice said into his ear. “Shh.”

The lantern light basked the tent in pale yellow, and Bruce could see Clark where he’d flopped himself over onto his own sleeping bag and sprawled out in a pretzel-twist of limbs. He was still asleep, with a deep rise and fall of his little chest. 

Bruce strangled the gasping sob in his throat, afraid of waking Clark, and it was only then that he registered the thin arms snaked around him and holding him close. He rolled over into the hug and buried his face against Kiran’s chest to muffle the whimpering wheeze he couldn’t quite silence.

“You’re alright, mate,” Kiran whispered, squeezing Bruce tighter. “Shh. You’re alright.”

It was another minute before Bruce calmed his breathing to a steady rhythm. His hands, clutching the silky sleeping bag material, were still shaking.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, on an exhale, against Kiran’s faded t-shirt. 

“I get it, yeah?” Kiran said. 

Bruce managed a nod.

Behind him, there was a mewling whine and a grumpy, “Bruce.”

“C’mere, kiddo,” Bruce said, pulling his head back from where it was cradled against Kiran’s chest. Clark crawled over him and settled down between them, his bony little elbows digging a space for himself so he was pressed tightly against Bruce. Bruce held him and kissed the top of his head, and a contented little sigh escaped him before he fell back asleep.

With Clark wedged between them, Kiran and Bruce’s foreheads were still almost close enough to touch. For a moment, Bruce closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth of Clark’s little body. He opened them again to study Kiran.

An owl hooted outside the tent and Kiran flinched and then looked sheepish when Bruce’s arm reached across Clark to squeeze his elbow. 

“Just an owl,” Bruce whispered.

“Have you ever slept outside before?” Kiran whispered back, their voices so low they wouldn’t have been able to hear if they were any further apart.

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “With my dad. Well, not Alfred, but…my father. Before. Just a few times, though.”

“Oh,” Kiran said. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking to you about it sometimes,” Bruce said, curling one hand around the back of Clark’s neck. He played with the babysoft hair there, twirling it into a loop around a finger over and over, gently. “He was a doctor so he was busy. We’d go over the hill, even farther from the house into the woods. Then, Alfred took me after, when we were in Spain. I didn’t like it much then. It’s okay now, but I didn’t like the dark when I was little. How about you?”

“I’ve never been camping,” Kiran said. “I slept outside once, though, the year before we moved. At my grandmum’s.”

“With your dad?” Bruce asked.

“Not really,” Kiran said. “He was inside. I got stuck on the roof all night after he let me clean the gutters. I fell asleep for a bit, but not much. I don’t know if it counts.”

“You didn’t yell for anyone?” Bruce raised his eyebrow. 

“Nah, it was high up. They were probably asleep anyway,” Kiran said, his gaze tilted down at Clark. “Forget it.”

Bruce bumped his forehead gently against Kiran’s. “It counts,” he decided. “I wish Alfred would let me sleep on the roof.”

“Mate, if you ask I think he might nail the windows shut to keep you inside,” Kiran said, with a muted little laugh. 

Bruce grinned and then it faded. “I used to sit up there a lot,” he said. “After. It’s why we met mom and Di and Clark. Alfred didn’t like it, so we tried traveling— he said the house was too empty.”

“Where’d you meet them?” Kiran asked, stifling a yawn. “Di told me it was near the beach.”

“Greece. A hotel on the sea. We were staying the same time they were, and Di found me on the roof there, too.”

“I’m going to nail the windows shut,” Kiran teased. “Rooftops are bloody terrifying. What if you slip?”

Bruce moved one hand over Clark’s exposed ear. “I didn’t but Alfred did. He said ‘bloody fuck,’ right in front of Mom. He didn’t know she was there looking for Di.”

“Bruce,” Kiran exclaimed in a harsh and delighted whisper.

“I’m just _telling_ you,” Bruce said. “He won’t. I tried to say it later and got my ear tugged and had to fold laundry, which is an unfair double standard, I think.”

“Where else did you go?” Kiran asked.

“Oh, everywhere,” Bruce said. “Lots of places before Greece. But only one or two after. Clark kept getting sick and we’d already decided to stay together, so we came back home.”

“That sounds brill,” Kiran said. “I’ve only been three places. Here, and London, and India. My naanii lived there and we went to see her a few times.”

“I’m glad you moved next door,” Bruce said. “If you’ve only been three places, it’s cool that one of them was here.”

“Me, too,” Kiran said, matching Bruce’s smile. “I hated it at first but now I think I like it here more than back home in London.”

“Bruce,” Clark murmured, shoving the hand off his ear. 

“Tomorrow we can ask Alfred to make French toast for breakfast,” Bruce promised. “If we get Clark to ask, I bet he’ll get out the sprinkles.”

“And syrup. Last time, he got the chocolate syrup,” Kiran said. “It was the best French toast I’d ever had.”

Bruce nodded and was nearly asleep when Kiran’s forehead bumped his, just the lightest tap.

“Bruce.”

“Hn?”

“This isn’t…too hard for you, is it? Being out here again?”

“No,” Bruce said. “It’s nice. I’m glad you got to come over.”

“Alright,” Kiran said. “Good.”


End file.
